Flirting with Fertility
by The Magpie Igraine
Summary: A Harmony response fic to a Portkey challenge. This one involves Hermes thinking she's pregnant and not knowing who the father is. Scarlet letter at the ready, she turns to Harry and...well, short fluffiness abounds.


This is my fluffy response to Beautiful Disaster's Portkey Challenge # million-and-a-half. The challenge involved Hermione's thinking she's pregnant and not knowing who the father is. Harry says that he will be "the father-figure," and Hermione's overjoyed because she's (surprised gasp) in love with Harry.THE CATCH: Hermione ends up NOT being pregnant! How does Harry react? Read on my friend, read on...

Flirting with Fertility

The strip is pink. Why is the strip pink? I look at the label thingy and, yes the strip is not white, just very very pink. Gods, of all the colors it could've turned… I reread the box because, hey, my hand is shaking and maybe it's a mistake and a misprint and…nope, definitely not a misprint.

I'm sitting on the edge of my parent's bathtub, staring back and forth at the test in one hand and its box in the other. I haven't moved since I read the results. That was about three hours ago, and I think I'm getting vertigo from staring at the little flower designs on the wallpaper. No, wait. It's not vertigo. It's nausea. I'm going to be sick.

"Maybe it's morning sickness," the amazingly unhelpful voice in my head offers. That, of course, only makes my stomach worse, and I kneel over the tub, prepared to lose whatever it was I ate for breakfast.

"Better get used to this Granger," the voice adds in a knowing tone (gods doesn't it ever take a break?), "because it'll happen again. Because that's what happens when you're (gulp) pregnant."

I stand up, breakfast intact and take a few shaky steps towards the door. I start practicing what to tell my parents. Hey mom, smiles in a deceptively neutral way remember that grandchild you never wanted? Well, about that….Hey dads, how about those, um, various sports-team you like? By the way, I'm pregnant.

Okay, now I'm really going to be sick.

It's funny, I tell myself as I head back towards the bathtub. It's really, really funny. At least I pretend it is and start laughing, because if I start to cry, I'll never stop.

"Hermes, look at me." Harry's staring at me with these big magic eyes, and, okay, yeah, I feel better. But then, he always makes me feel better, and I'm determined to be miserable. Sweet Orfeo. I'm Pregnant! Ha. I don't even know who the father is. I'm like some bloody coed come back from break. Next thing you know I'll be seeing myself on one of those wild-girl type videos.

He cups my chin and gazes at my upturned face.. His eyes are full of kindness and understanding and, well, all-things-Harry.

"Do you…?" He trails off, not needing to finish. How can I tell him that, no, I don't know who the father is, and, no, I don't really want to.

I shake my head and blink back a few tears. It's a too late in the season for immaculate conception, so no playing the prophecy card.

"I didn't even…I don't…" I can feel tears start to stream down my cheeks as my voice gives out. Of course I'd have to cry in front of Harry. I quickly wipe them away, but he stills my hands and gathers me to him. And yes, maybe I'm enjoying it a bit too much, his holding me in his strong arms, rocking me while whispering sweet things in my ear. Should've know it'd take my imminent ruin for him to initiate a bloody hug.

"I'll always be here for you Hermes," he says softly, and I can only nod because, whether or not I'd like to admit it, that's what I've been waiting to hear since third year.

The last few weeks have been a blur. Alright, I'll admit to being blissfully happy, but it's all Harry's fault. He's been so supportive. Supportive, ha. He's probably bought every baby book, toy, and blanket in London. Our guest room is full of the packages he keeps bringing on his daily visits. And the way he looks at me, like I was, well, like I was finally something worth seeing. Hard to explain, but at the six-year mark, sidekicks don't usually merit a second glance. Apparently it takes something like a brush with death or a surprise pregnancy to do the trick.

But Harry's happy. Honestly happy about the baby. Our baby, he calls it. He blushed the first time he let it slip: our baby. I just held his hand and smiled my approval. My approval? Right. I nearly burst out crying I was so happy. Crying like I am now. Crying because I'm not pregnant.

"What?" Harry asks softly. I don't know if I can say it again. I take a deep breath and gather my Gryffindor courage.

"I'm not pregnant," I say at last. "Never was." I shrug and turn away, determined not to break down in front of him. That and I just can't bear to look at him. Selfish? Yes. But necessary. His heart is breaking, and, now, so is mine.

"Are you sure?" I can hear a tremor in his voice, and all I can do is nod. I'd like to turn to him and gather him to me, but I can't. For all his professed loyalty, I'm not sure he'd want to touch me right now. Not that it's entirely my fault. So, witches and muggle pregnancy tests don't mix. Who knew?

I hear the door close behind me but still refuse to turn round. So he's left. Fine. He's allowed to leave. Leaving's allowed. I'll give him some space, maybe a few weeks, and he'll get over it. Anyways, it's for the best. Of course I'm only trying to convince myself when I say that. It's for the best. It's for the best. Oh gods it's for the best.

I clasp my hand over my mouth as a hiccupping sob escapes. Another one follows. Then another one. Damn, and I wasn't going to cry. Soon I'm on the floor with my knees tucked firmly under my chin, violently sobbing my heart out.

I'm crying so hard I don't feel the pair of strong arms that wrap around me and gather me to a very comfortable and masculine chest.

"S'alright sweets," I hear Harry's voice, softly hushing me as I helplessly sob against him. He wipes away my tears and tenderly cups my cheek. "It's alright, really." He says it again as I slowly recover.

"But Harry. You, were…" I sniffle a bit as I stare up at him, determined to form at least one coherent sentence… "you were so happy."

He smiles at that. "Yeah love. I was." He leans in and gives me a kiss on the tip of my nose. "But to tell the truth, I didn't much like the idea of your having someone else's baby."

Huh? Wait…huh? Wait…It takes a drawn-out moment for that little confession to sink in. Not having time to mull it over, I, of course, say the first smart-arsed thing that pops into my head.

"Well, then," I give a put-upon sigh, "guess I'll have to mind myself at Mardi Gras."

"Yeah," he says, rolling his eyes, "I'll see that you do."

"Is that a threat Potter?" I tease weakly.

"No, love," he cradles me in his arms and brushes back a loose strand of hair, "that's a promise."

The End


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